#project new normal

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Bless the friends who are instantly ready to break your ex into small pieces for even maybe implying you're less than perfect. Even when the reasons for ending are legit, it's a wonderful boost when you're feeling down.

Also making a list of everything that bugged you ever, even a little, every point where they were less than ideal, is excellent therapy that first day when you're still reeling. 

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I think I rented an apartment today.... I get the keys next Saturday... Wow...I don't know... I have an apartment, or I will, really soon...wow

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On Wednesday I lay all my cards out on the table. It was relief to not be hiding my good news, to not be quietly trying to back out of obligations without saying why. I hadn’t thought about how much the freedom to speak of it to anyone, for anyone to speak to me about it, would also make it heavy. I knew that people would say I would be missed, but I didn’t expect the vehemence, and I didn’t expect the hearing to weigh on me so much more heavily. It swallowed me up for days. I could hardly think the name of a friend without my tounge growing salty with swallowed tears for the distances coming, for the pain I’m causing. 

Last night with friends, the good ones who see through all my disguises, where I forget to wear them, one of the wise women said she gave me permission to just be happy and not think about the rest. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that. 

Last night I dreamed a zombie apocalypse. I kept trying to save other people, and sometimes I did, but no matter how many do overs I got-- and there were plenty-- I died, until I realized the only way to survive was to save myself. Sometimes my dreams are mysterious to me, but I guess it isn’t feeling subtle. 

So this is me choosing me, and to be proud of having come this far and of my brave strange choices. It doesn’t mean some things won’t make me sad, or that letting go isn’t hard, but I need to stop borrowing sadness. I’ve worked hard for this. I’ve shed parts of myself I never would have risked on purpose, I am better without them, but scar tissue is still the record of wounds. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but this is keeping on, this is choosing the dream, or the hope of the dream. And I have to, we have to, there is this moment. And this one, and this one. And on we go. 

[ceruleanpaper]

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small dreams

Windows with lace table cloth curtains

Waking up and not wondering who else is there, my mind half waking up in the past

City streets in the morning light

Making my food without wondering if someone will walk through and imply it's weird 

Sleeping in and waking up, deciding its a museum day

inviting friends for movies and games, whenever

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The future is coming and it’s mine.

All these books can't come, but some can.

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There isn't a story that will turn all pain into meaning. I try to learn this over and over.

I have loved a deity so much we spoke like friends, not one sided. I have believed. I have been proved wrong by the ecstasy of group belief and brain chemistry. I have cut away a part of myself when my heart and head could no longer reconcile. And even then I played along until my beloved was cast out, and there wasn't anyone else I loved enough to endure those places and memories for.

I have loved a man who built himself with strength and the great white male authors to keep a boy safe from gun shots, race, fear. He thought I could build myself into something stronger too. I thought I could be good enough, patient enough, become enough. But I became something else. And we aren't a story any more. And there is no great lesson, nothing in the past will change by my dissecting. I was doing my best, and whether I gave up, or gave in, or pushed myself too hard, or not enough, its over.

I thought there would be an epiphany somewhere in mastership, but there is no secret. There is keeping on, may be not the same keeping on, not the same place, not the same ways. The only constant is change.

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when I was little I wanted a window seat like none other. I've never had one although I keep trying to create approximations across my living situations. they have two and both covered in knick knacks and picture frames no room to curl up with a book.

I think keeping this house in mind might help me go home and weed my life.